


Poison

by AlleiraDayne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bodily Fluids, Bunker, Bunker Sex, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Doggy Style, F/M, Fluff, Orgasm, Painplay, Rough Sex, Smut, Spanking, garage sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 13:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18757561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: Dean and Elizabeth are working on a truck in the garage of the Bunker





	Poison

**Author's Note:**

> For SPN Kink Bingo, this fills the square "Spanking". This also fulfills @idreamofplaids Bunker Room challenge. (#plaidsbunkerchallenge)

“Alright, try it again.”

Dean pressed the clutch to the floor and torqued the ignition. Starter and alternator turned over with repeated revolutions, but the engine struggled to fire. A grimace contorted his face as he throttled the accelerator to no avail. The old pickup truck shuddered to stillness as he snatched the key out of the ignition, and he popped the clutch with a careless release of his foot. “Dammit! Fuck this thing, why won’t it start?!” His shout echoed through the garage of the Bunker, followed by his yelp of pain as the side of his fist connected with the hardwood steering wheel.

“I uh… I think I know what the problem is,” Elizabeth said as she leaned against the fender cover. “There’s… yeah, this is…”

She disappeared under the hood and Dean missed the rest of her thought. Not because he couldn’t hear her from beneath the hood, but because he’d stopped paying attention. Even in coveralls and smothered in grease, Elizabeth cut a figure that weakened his knees. No. Fuck that. _Especially_ in coveralls and smothered in grease, Elizabeth stopped Dean’s heart cold.

He stared through the open window of the old C10 pickup truck at the curve of Elizabeth’s ass rounding over the fender. He couldn’t help himself. Over the last year, with Elizabeth and Natalie living in the Bunker and hunting together, she’d grown on him. Sure, he had been attracted to her damn near since the day they’d met—how could anyone blame him? Elizabeth had practically fainted right into his arms—but that felt like a lifetime ago. Everything had changed since then. Especially Dean.

Sort of. At least, the way he thought about his minimal sex life had changed. And with that thought, his daydream clouded, leaping from one lewd fantasy to the next; he tasted her on his tongue, his face buried between her cheeks as he spread her lips and devoured her. Elizabeth spread her legs as he angled the tip of his cock to her cunt and slipped inside. The slap of their bodies echoed in his mind as Dean thrust into her, and she cried out his name as she begged for more, _more, yes, fuck me, Dean, yes, Dean, Dean—_

“Dean?”

Elizabeth stared at him through the window with her angular brow and lips thinned to a narrow line. “You okay?”

Dean shifted in his seat, adjusting the hard length of his cock to ease the ache between his thighs. Though he tried to cover his discomfort, Elizabeth noticed, and her frown snapped to a crooked grin in a heartbeat. When Dean found the words to speak, he said, “Uh yeah, I'm fine. What's… what were you saying?”

She held aloft the distributor cap, a scorched ring of black marring the metal. “Distributor cap is toast. I think we have a few but I don't know if they're any good or if they'll fit…”

She headed for the workbench and Dean took the opportunity to breathe through several deep inhalations, calming his racing heart. Though the rapid beats slowed, his erection persisted, and Dean cursed as Elizabeth returned with parts and tools.

“One of these ought to work,” she started, but when she spotted Dean still sitting in the truck, she paused. “What's got you all worked up?”

Dean smiled despite his embarrassment. “You,” he started, “working on the truck. It's… something else.”

With a roll of her eyes, Elizabeth returned to the engine. He should do something about it. She wouldn’t mind. Hell, Elizabeth was the kind of woman that, when propositioned the perfect way, would fuck him wherever he wanted. She seemed particularly fond of his man cave—oh, he had shared it with her, and Sam would never let him live that down. The occasional backseat session in both Baby and Val frequented her list. But her favorite had to be the garage.

Dean slipped from the truck while Elizabeth worked, intent on surprising her. Careful steps rounded the door as he reached, fingers splayed as they flattened against her ass. As he had expected, she maintained her focus on the truck, determined to fix it. With a new distributor cap connected, Elizabeth rose from the fender and shot him a look over her shoulder. “Turn it over again.”

She teased him without remorse, and Dean enjoyed every second of it. When he sat back on the bench behind the wheel, he wondered where she might take him. As he pushed on the clutch and turned the ignition, he wondered what she might do to him. And when the engine fired with a roar of cylinders and exhaust, Dean leaped from the truck, dumbfounded.

“Son of a bitch, you were right,” he muttered.

“What?!”

Elizabeth motioned for him to repeat himself, but before Dean spoke, he shut off the engine. “I said, you were right.”

“Of course, I'm right,” she started, “I'm a goddamn mechanic.”

Her confident grin and easy laugh teased at his senses. “Nicely done,” he added as his hand connected with her ass without a single thought.

Good job. Good hustle. Nice play. Way to go. The congratulatory ass-slap. Why did we do it? Of all the things men did to congratulate each other, why do we slap each other's asses? He had meant it in precisely that way. She’d done a great job and he thought she should know.

Except he had not anticipated the pristinely desperate moan that rent from her lips the moment his hand met her ass. He had not anticipated much of anything really. And it seemed as though she had not either, face red and a hand over her mouth. With the damage done, Dean doubled down. And Elizabeth owned it.

The second slap echoed through the garage and on its heels rang a high cry of ecstasy the likes of which Dean had rarely heard from her. Not that he ever failed to pleasure her to the fullest. But that cry seemed to be a whole new level of arousal for her.

“You just gonna stand there with your hand on my ass?”

His eyes snapped to hers as she glared at him over her shoulder and leaned over the fender of the truck, back arched and all but presenting herself to him.

Dean had died. And he was in heaven.

His hips pinned her to the truck as he reached beneath her arms for the buttons of her coveralls. Impatient, he tore the fabric, metal buttons popping apart, and he wrenched it over her shoulders. Beneath that layer he found a plain tank top over a plain bra, and Dean wasted no time in discarding both. The coverall clung to her hips, and for a moment, Dean stepped back to admire his handiwork.

She belonged in art. Not just a magazine—although, Dean thoroughly enjoyed the thought of that—but in some real, honest to god, Italian fucking Renaissance art. The haphazard cascade of fabric over her hips hinted at more, at what she had in store for him. The coquettish curl of her lips with her beckoning gaze sucked the air from his lungs and spun the room in a dizzying rush of arousal. She was the stuff of wet dreams and midday boners and popped cherries all in one.

And Dean had her all to himself.

With a gentle tug, her coveralls fell to her ankles along with her underwear. And though Dean wanted nothing more than to dive right in to feast on her flesh, he waited. Several silent seconds ticked by, and after twenty of them, she looked over her shoulder, lips poised to speak. But the flat of Dean's hand met her ass again, and with no less enthusiasm than the first time, Elizabeth cried out her pleasure.

“Spanking, huh?” he asked when she quieted.

Elizabeth mewled through a breath as she replied. “Hell yeah. Something about the way you do it, though… holy shit. It's—”

Another loud slap echoed through the garage with Elizabeth’s cry. Her entire body writhed, hips rolled and back arched as she melted before him. A bright red hand print swelled, distinct against her pale skin, and Dean soothed the supple flesh of her ass with his tender touch. “It's what? Too much?”

Elizabeth shook her head, vehemently disagreeing. “Fuck no, it’s… barely enough. I want more.”

More. Christ, if he gave her any more, he might actually hurt her. “You want me to spank you,” Dean started, “as hard as I can?”

A flare of excited fear flashed in her hazel eyes. “I think so,” she said. “If it's too much, I'll say so.”

Damn that woman. Damn her and her sopping cunt and perfect ass and lusty gaze. As impatient as he was to fuck her silly, Dean gathered his willpower and stepped beside her. “This is really going to hurt.”

“Oh, I know,” she assured him with a shift of her hips.

Dean ogled the jiggle of her ass as she kicked one foot from her coveralls and spread her legs. “Do your worst, Winchester,” she said with another coy smirk over her shoulder.

Steady, he had to hold himself impossibly steady for what he was about to do. So, with one hand at the small of her back, Dean wound up, reaching high over his shoulder. His hips and shoulders torqued as he swung his arm, twisted into the turn, and his hand collided with the meat of her ass so hard, Elizabeth screamed. Not in pain, but in absolute exultation, the height of her arousal, just shy of orgasming, achieved. The thump of Dean’s heart railed against his ribs at the sight of her quivering body, all weak knees and heaving shoulders, so supine and ready. He had to have her then. Nothing could hold him back any longer.

In a flurry of limbs and fabric, Dean stripped from his coverall, tore his shirt overhead, and shoved his pants and underwear to his knees. His cock fell free of the fabric to land heavy between Elizabeth’s cheeks, and she startled with a moan so wicked, Dean wished for a bed. Instead, he steadied himself against her, a hand grasping her hip and the other the base of his cock as he angled it to her lips dripping with arousal. He teased her flesh with his, the swollen head not quite inside her as he dragged it through her cum. A test. He needed a test, to know what she had in store for him before he went all in.

His left hand connected with her cheek, and though he heard her high mewling whine, Dean's broken cry drowned her voice. The pulse of response in her cunt flexed around the tip of his cock, and beholden to hear wiles, Dean thrust his hips, slamming his pelvis into her. With his cock buried in her pussy, they moaned together a long, low sound deep in their throats.

Elizabeth moved first as she rolled her hips with short, smooth strokes of his cock. Mesmerized, Dean stared at her ass as she picked up speed, her supple flesh bouncing against his pelvis. He had definitely died, and this was definitely heaven. His woman took from him exactly what she wanted and demanded what she needed. And if she needed to be spanked, Dean could give that to her in spades.

He lost count after the first. As she bottomed out against him, he'd struck hard and fast, and together they cried out in ecstasy, growls and whimpers between them both. He followed her demands, her orders for more, and not only with his hands. The longer they fucked, the more vulgar Elizabeth vocalized her needs. Between _fuck me harder_ and _spank me, Dean_ , he had to sweeten the pot with his own lascivious thoughts.

“You like being spanked, sweetheart?” he breathed, voice punctuated by his thrusts. “Have you been a bad girl?”

She breathed her reply through her moan. “Oh, so bad, Dean.” Her hips thrust in time with his. “I think about you and Cas. A lot.” She paused with a moaning breath, then added, “It turns me on.”

“Oh?” he asked. “Sounds like quite the fantasy,” he groaned with a rush of arousal. “Might have to try it someday.”

“Really?” she sighed. “You’d do that—”

Dean’s hand landed on her ass once more with a sharp _smack_ and Elizabeth’s moan reached the heavens, her back arched and chin raised. Poised so, Dean reached for her throat and leaned into her as he wrenched her back, flush to his chest. With his lip on her ear he whispered, “I’d do anything for you. Even this.”

The flat of his palm railed against her ass again, and Elizabeth startled with a wailing cry. “Fuck, Dean, I’m gonna come!”

He thrust harder as she met him half way, and with another ringing slap of her ass, Elizabeth convulsed, her entire body shuddering silently in his grasp. And then praise rained from her lips in a string of obscenities and benedictions, the wet heat of her cunt throbbing around him as she came. Opaque white gushed from her with his relentless thrusts, coating his cock and spread to her thighs. Elizabeth begged him to stop, to slow down at least, but he held her fast as he pounded into her. With her orgasm, the urge to come inside her sent a rush of blood straight to his cock. Relentless, he thrust into her overstimulated cunt, racing to his release.

Except Dean had forgotten her reach.

When the flat of her hand landed on his ass, the rush of Dean’s climax barreled into him with such force, he screamed. A pathetic thing, really, that sudden, short shriek of adulation preceded the hard, prolonged flex of his cock as he came with his hips planted against her ass. Involuntary thrusts of his hips drained him of his load and sapped him of all his strength. He collapsed against her, hand falling from her throat and replaced by his lips. For several moments, Dean resolved to simply breathe her in, and Elizabeth supported them both as she leaned against the truck. Bless her beautiful ass for that.

“That was fun.”

Her horse alto dragged him up from the depths of his mind, floundering in a vast ocean of serenity. When Dean rose from her, the bright red welt covering her right cheek caught his eye and he traced the edge with a delicate fingertip. “Does it hurt?”

“No, why?” she asked.

“Because it looks… it just looks like it should hurt,” Dean explained.

Elizabeth laughed at that as she hitched her hip into him. “Take a picture, lover boy, it’ll last longer.”

Over her shoulder he found her tired gaze, hair plastered to her forehead and beads of sweat running down her back. “Are you serious?”

She grinned a wicked thing as she stood—Dean shuddered with another pathetic whimper as she withdrew from him—and pressed herself flush to his chest. With her lips against his she said, “Or we can do it again later. In my room. You can take a picture then.”

He matched her smile with one of his own and a subtle kiss pressed to her lips. When he parted from her, he leaned down to the floor and dug his phone from his jean pocket. That wondrous flash of excitement ignited in her eyes once more as Dean spoke.

“Turn around.”


End file.
